The Baroness, Part 55

A Saving the Future Tie-In

Baron Ottokar Zemo harrumphed. Then he harrumphed again.

He scowled. Harrumphing was all well and good: Bismarck had done it expertly, not to mention most of the General Staff, but it lacked a certain . . . dynamic quality.

It was time for a relaxing workout in the dungeon, the Baron reflected. Elizabeth had not had time to provide him with new prisoners, but he hadn’t worked out with Karl in a while and the footman’s bones should have knitted by now. He rounded the last turn in the stairway and flicked the switch for the torches. Nothing happened. As it was, the Baron had no need of torches or lights, but he was a stickler for protocol, not to mention order, and Schloss Schreckhausen was still a mess from the Parody War even after he had drafted a platoon of Bulgarian zombies he’d made during the war to do the vacuuming. He stepped over to the speaking tube to advise Franz, the major domo, that repairs were necessary, and to send Karl down anyway. It took some of the flavor out of the torture when the victim couldn’t see what was going on, but the added suspense might make up for it.

A footstep sounded from the direction of the rack. Otto turned and noted two bright crimson eyes glowing in a cadaverous face. “Vrykaukolas. What a pleasant surprise. A social call?” The castle’s mystic wards clearly needed refreshing; ordinarily, Vrykaukolas would require an invitation even to step under the porte cochere.

“Business, I’m afraid, Otto, merely business,” the senior vampire intoned. “Hardly time for even a game of skat nowadays, getting things back into place.”

“Understandable,” replied the Baron, not exactly happy to be consorting with a mere Rumanian vampire, not even a nobleman, but cognizant that it was not yet time to betray this ally. “As you see, though, I too am somewhat behind in my repairs. I may have difficulty assisting you.”

Vrykaukolas bowed ironically. “Dear Otto, it is not I who need assistance. Rather, I am here to receive my compensation for ridding your granddaughter of her enemies.”

“I was not aware that my granddaughter had contracted with you for anything, let alone an extermination. After all, that is one of my specialties.”

The undead fiend chuckled at the unalive sorcerer. “You have been off your game, old friend. The Mystic Monoliths of Moldavia require a high level of sympathetic magic – and Moldavia is but a hundred kilometers or so from my castle. Or do you think it was a mere coincidence that they appeared to neutralize the Celestian protections at the necessary moment?”

Ottokar Zemo knew a shakedown when he heard it. “I was told the Void Scholar had something to do with those events. Perhaps you should take your claim up with him.”

“Humph,” sneered Vrykaukolas. “An Oriental academic. All theory and no action. Now we, we vampires, know how to get our hands dirty.”

Vrykaukolas, Baron Otto noted, hadn’t done any field work in three centuries. Claimed he was too busy watching over his junior vampires. “So you dug up thirteen mystic monoliths with your own hands? During the day?” the Baron riposted.

The venerable vampire smirked, an incongruous and unsettling sight. “Perhaps *you* would require a physical manifestation, Ottokar, but we native creatures of the black arts need no such expedients. But we dither. Inform your granddaughter that Vrykaukolas requires his payment. Seven thousand virgins might suffice as a starter.”

“There aren’t that many suitable girls within 50 miles, Vrykaukolas. You need to spend some time in this century,” the Baron temporized.

“I’m sure the Baroness can improvise something,” the aged undead replied. “But my payment is due, and I am not inclined to wait long.”

“You had nothing to do with any of this, and in any case, there was no mystical contract,” Otto scowled back.

“Contracts? Tfui!” Vrykaukolas spat. “I demand only what is due to me, what is deserved for my services, to avoid her unjust enrichment. I speak of equity, German, a language unknown to you.”

“I know the language of might –“ the Baron began with a snarl, when a second presence flashed into the dungeon.

“Vrykaukolas,” the newcomer hissed. “Taking credit for my spells again?” The Necromancer General’s body was almost emaciated and his face bore the scars of his encounters with the Lair Legion, but implacable will could carry a mage a long way.

“Has-been! Loser! Inept!”

“Freeloader! You haven’t executed a spell in seven decades, and the last one gave the Allies Rumania!”

“Bah, it was interference from - -“

Nyalurkotep materialized between the two adversaries. “Silence, both of you cretins! Ottokar, we have business to discuss. The Fairly Great Old Ones demand payment for their dissipation of the Celestian magics.”

“They’re still asleep!”

“That from someone who’s been defeated twice by a fake man!”

“I could take you down with one hand tied behind my back!”

Camellia of the Fay’s representative, Mahssus, a troll with the appearance of Hulk Hogan after a long night at the bar, chose this moment to stride into the dungeon. “I’m looking for Baron Otto-kar Zemo. The rest of youse, uh, get out.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”
“If he can’t, I will!”

“Big words, small wand.”

The Baron edged toward the door as Mefrotho blinked in. As he reached it, he paused for a moment, considering whether the Schloss would survive his next action, and resolved to roll the dice. “I’m told that only Xander could perform such magic.”

The room exploded in argument, shortly followed by lightning bolts. Otto skulked upstairs as the foundations of the Schloss began shuddering. Perhaps he could take Karl over to the Heckfire Club.

Playing the part of Baroness Elizabeth Zemo (who’s around somewhere):

J. JONAH JERKSON
Voice of the People